Shakespeare Under Cover

by Erin Wade

  “What’s this?” Agent King asked.

  “Just in case you haven’t found them yet, it’s over a hundred reasons why Coach Tucker was murdered and that many people with motives.”

  King rolled her eyes. “I picked these up yesterday. What compelled you to get them?”

  “I don’t want you looking at Joey for Tucker’s death.” Brandy sat down in the chair across from the FBI agent. “He told me you really grilled him on that point.”

  “I’ve marked your boyfriend off my list,” Peyton said. “It seems he has an airtight alibi.”

  “Let me guess. Loraine Munoz?” Brandy snorted.

  Peyton nodded. “She swears they were awake all night.”

  “Yeah, Joey could do that.” Brandy chortled. “He has the stamina of a racehorse.”

  “Do you know anyone who was molested by Tucker but didn’t report it?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” Brandy’s eyes darkened. “The bastard got what he deserved. If he’d raped Professor Shaw, I would have killed him myself.”

  Chapter 6

  Pat Sawyer paid visits to three people: Athletic Director Bob Radford, Chief of Staff and Executive Senior Associate Athletics Director Robin Chase, and Assistant Head Coach Clint Brand. She had one message for all of them: “Keep your mouths shut and swear you knew nothing about Tucker’s activities.”

  The problem was that all three of them not only knew about Tucker’s escapades, they had participated in some of them. If one of them went down, they all went down, taking Pat with them.

  Pat sat in her vehicle and waited as Peyton King’s officers went through her files. She wondered if they would be there all night. She had hidden the files on Radford, Chase, and Brand, along with Danny Tucker’s.

  Maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to do, she thought. If they find one of them, they will have all of them.

  It was after midnight when King’s agents called it a night and locked up the police chief’s office. The customary yellow tape declaring, “Police line. Do not cross,” crisscrossed the door.

  Pat waited until she was certain everyone was gone and then entered her office. She stood on her office chair to slide back the ceiling tile hiding the files and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw them.

  She stuffed the files under her uniform shirt and left the office. She drove the fifteen minutes to her home and pulled her car into the garage. Only then did she feel safe enough to remove the files from under her clothing.

  She pitched the files on her kitchen island and pulled a cold beer from the fridge. She sat down and began reading the reports.

  The earlier reports were of mild misconduct—fondling, groping, exposure of genitals—nothing she considered dangerous. When the girls had reported an incident, she’d merely taken their reports and assured them the perpetrators would be punished. She’d called the coaches involved and warned them about the complaints. The football team had been on track to win the national championship. Pat knew she would lose her job if she rocked that boat.

  Danny Tucker had reported directly to the university president. There had been no doubt in Pat’s mind who would lose in that confrontation.

  When Chancellor O’Brien had merged the positions of chancellor and president, Tucker had continued to report to the president. Pat had often heard him curse because O’Brien questioned the behavior of his team and his coaches.

  “They’re males,” Tucker had hooted. “If you suppress their natural instincts, you suppress them on the football field.”

  O’Brien had made headlines and a few enemies when she expelled members of the team for criminal sexual conduct. Overestimating his popularity, Tucker had challenged the chancellor in public. He had lost the confrontation and almost lost his job.

  It was no secret that O’Brien would have loved to fire the aggressive football coach but refrained from doing so because she knew the backlash she’d get.

  Pat separated the files into two categories: rape and assault. Often, the coeds had fought back and escaped being raped but had been badly beaten.

  The more she reviewed the files, the more disgusted she became with herself. How could I let this happen on my watch?

  But she knew how it had happened. Sadie had happened. Danny Tucker had introduced them at a pep rally. Blonde, beautiful, and built like a brick outhouse, Sadie had steamrolled Pat and provided her a weekend she’d never forget. She’d also provided Tucker a video that would ruin Pat’s career.

  Pat still remembered the cold fear that had embraced her when Tucker dropped the video by her office. “I thought you might enjoy reliving this.” His cruel smile had turned her stomach. She knew what it was without looking. How could I have been so stupid? she thought for the thousandth time.

  The video could only be classified as hard-core porn. They had experimented with every toy on the market, in every position. Being a lesbian was one thing, but watching their sex acts with a little S&M thrown in, including up-close shots, was disgusting.

  The football staff had continued to molest whatever gender they preferred, and Pat had looked the other way. Things had almost come to a head the year before O’Brien accepted the chancellor/president position.

  A celebration for the football team and athletic staff had resulted in a lot of drinking, drugs, and sex. Jamie Wright, one of the girls attending the party, had been reported missing the next afternoon.

  The girl’s roommate had filed the report. Pat could still remember the wave of dread that had washed over her when the roommate informed her that her friend had been at the athletic celebration the night before.

  Three days later, the girl’s body had been dragged from a stream that ran behind some campus apartments. The autopsy had been the thing nightmares were made of. Pat shuddered as she pulled the report from her file. Numerous men had engaged in sex with the girl—probably against her will. Cause of death had been asphyxiation. Semen DNA had been matched to Tucker and three football players. All four men swore the girl had left the party under her own power and that she had willingly engaged in sex with them.

  Pat still recalled the faces of the girl’s parents when they were informed of her death. She hadn’t told them the results of the forensic report, only that their daughter had been strangled by persons unknown.

  The girl’s roommate had gone to the Austin Statesman and given them everything she knew. The local police department had been called in, and the parents had sued the university.

  Tucker had stormed into her office. “You’ve got to fix this! You can make this go away. Do it quickly, or your little video goes to the president. He’d love something to take the heat off the athletic program.”

  Pat had revisited the spot where Jamie Wright’s body had been pulled from the stream but found nothing. It was obvious the girl’s body had been dumped.

  A local homeless man had followed her to the water’s edge. “Whatcha doing?”

  “I’m looking for a student,” Pat had replied.

  “Pretty, dark-haired girl?” the bum had asked.

  “Yeah. Did you see her down here?” She’d pushed on her cell phone to record their exchange.

  “Yep,” he’d said with a snicker. “We wrestled.”

  “She wrestled with you?”

  “Yep.”

  “I bet she whipped you, didn’t she?” Pat had baited him.

  “Nah, I won,” he’d said, flashing a toothless grin.

  “Did you choke her?”

  “Sure did. She started screaming and yelling for the police,” the derelict had said. “I had to shut her up, but she got away from me and ran, so I hid.” Pat had turned off her cell phone. She had enough to pin the murder on the vagrant.

  “She was alive when you ran?” Pat had asked.

  “Yeah, but some big guys took her. She struggled to get away from them, but they shoved her into their car.”

  Pat pulled another beer from her fridge, unscrewed the top, and took a long pull on it. The vagabond�
��s better off in prison than living on the streets, she reasoned as she recalled how she had edited the recording she gave the police to implicate the man in the coed’s murder.

  She wondered if her job was worth her soul.

  Chapter 7

  Regan read her email as she waited for her class to be seated and the bell to ring. The email from the chancellor’s office received her immediate attention. Katherine O’Brien was hosting a formal reception for all the department heads to kick off homecoming week at the university.

  The email directly under O’Brien’s was from the chairman of the English department, Matthew Bolen. “Please do me the honor of accompanying me to the chancellor’s department head reception?”

  Regan immediately replied, “Yes, I’d be delighted to.”

  Twenty-one years her senior, Matthew had been her first English professor at UT. They had established a friendship that had lasted over the years. Regan had been his beard on many occasions. The chancellor’s reception would be one such occasion.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” Matthew emailed back.

  “Why do you go with the old guys?” Brandy muttered.

  Regan jumped and quickly closed her laptop. “Miss Brandywine, it isn’t polite to read other people’s mail. Why are you looking over my shoulder anyway?”

  “I wanted to see what you were doing.” Brandy’s honesty was both refreshing and disarming.

  Regan suppressed a smile. “Please be seated. I have a class to teach.”

  Regan addressed her students. “How many of you finished your reading assignment?” Everyone raised a hand.

  “Good.” Regan surveyed her class. “Shakespeare’s use of symbolism is well known in academic circles. Who can tell me what symbolizes absurd fickleness in A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

  The silence from the class caused Regan to frown. “No one? What did you get from reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

  “Bored,” a voice called from the back of the room.

  Brandy swiveled around in her chair to see if it was Joey being a smart ass, but she couldn’t spot him.

  “What about you, Brandy? Any thoughts on Shakespeare’s symbols?”

  “The love potion,” Brandy declared. “Just like love does in real life, it made asses of all of them.”

  “Excellent,” Regan said. “Do you have a favorite line from the play?”

  “Yes. It was stated by the fellow who was turned into a jackass. He said, ‘Reason and love keep little company.’” Brandy held Regan’s gaze as she recited the line. “Do you believe that, Professor?”

  Regan couldn’t pull her gaze from Brandy’s. She couldn’t control the heat she felt sweeping her body. She shook her head, breaking the trance induced by Brandy’s emerald eyes.

  “If you haven’t read A Midsummer Night’s Dream, make sure you do. You will be tested over it when our class meets again,” Regan instructed. “Class dismissed.”

  Regan shoved her papers into her computer bag and fished her keys from her purse.

  “Coffee?” Brandy made the two-syllable word sound like a seductress’s enchantment.

  “No, I . . . um, have things to do.”

  Brandy caught her by the arm. “Regan, have I done something wrong? Are you angry with me?”

  “No, I’m not angry with you, Brandy. I truly do have a lot to do.”

  “Can we have dinner? My treat,” Brandy said. “To pay you back for the delicious meal you cooked for me.”

  “I . . . I can’t tonight. I have a date.”

  “Oh! Maybe another time, then.”

  Regan couldn’t bear the hurt in Brandy’s voice. “It’s the chancellor’s reception.”

  Brandy frowned. “That’s just for VIPs and department heads.”

  “I’m a plus-one,” Regan explained.

  Brandy raised her eyebrows.

  “Dr. Bolen,” Regan added. “Chairman of the English department.”

  Before she could reply, Joey charged into the room. “Brandy! I’ve been waiting for you. I was afraid something happened to you.”

  “Joey Sloan, you skipped my class,” Regan said, challenging her student. “Why?”

  “I . . . uh . . . we gotta go. We’re going to be late.” Joey grabbed Brandy’s arm and pulled her toward the door.

  “I told you I can’t go to your frat party tonight,” she insisted as Joey dragged her out the door.

  Chapter 8

  Regan pulled a stunning dress from her closet. The black, fitted evening gown was perfect for the chancellor’s reception. It hugged her curves and showed just enough cleavage to make one’s mouth water. The material shimmered in the light from her dressing table.

  She finished her makeup and was applying lipstick when the doorbell rang. Matthew was always prompt.

  She grabbed her clutch and walked to the front door. She liked going out with Matthew. He was tall enough for her to wear high heels.

  “Oh, be still my heart,” Matthew said, whistling as he appraised his date. “Lord help you, woman. If I weren’t gay, you’d be in trouble.”

  Regan laughed out loud. “You’ve always looked handsome in your tux, and you’ve always been so good for my ego.”

  He nodded and held out his arm for her.

  ##

  “How does it feel to be back in the classroom?” Matthew asked as they fastened their seatbelts.

  “Interesting,” Regan said. “Students are more forward than in my day.”

  “Yes, it’s a little frightening.” He laughed. “They treat sex so casually that they will offer anything for an A.”

  “I haven’t been propositioned yet, but I have noticed how freely they exchange favors with one another, like it’s no big deal.”

  “It’s still a big deal to me,” Matthew said. “I don’t take relationships lightly.”

  “Speaking of relationships . . . how is Phillip?”

  “Wonderful as ever,” Matthew exclaimed. “He’ll be at the reception. He’s chairman of the engineering department. He wants us to have you to dinner soon.”

  “Let me get things under control, and I’d love to. Coach Tucker’s murder has caused an uproar on campus, and my students are having trouble settling down.”

  “I understand you were his date,” Matthew noted.

  “Yes. He tried to drug me. One of my students saw him and took me away from the party.”

  “It’s a nasty business, athletics.” Matthew shook his head. “There’s a different attitude now. All that matters is winning. It’s not like it was when Darrell Royal was coach.

  “The new philosophy is win at any price. Money, drugs, cars, women—the athletic directors will use anything to attract and keep the best players. Of course, they partake of the goodies too.”

  “What about Chancellor O’Brien? I understand she expelled some top players for molesting coeds.”

  “She’s doing her best, but they keep things from her,” Matthew explained. “She’s in the loop in other departments, but athletics is a different animal.”

  Matthew pulled his car to the curb, where valets rushed to open their doors. “Professor Shaw,” the valet said, “you look . . . amazing.”

  “Thank you, Nathan,” she said as she recognized her student. “You look very dashing in your tux.” The young man blushed, hung his head, and stopped just short of doing an “aww shucks” routine.

  ##

  Matthew was the perfect date. He steered her around the room, introducing her to anyone he deemed important. She soon had a following of groupies as people realized she was the Regan Shaw, author of many top-sellers, with eight award-winning movies based on her books.

  “I forget what a celebrity you are.” Matthew laughed as he handed her a glass of champagne.

  Regan felt it, the shift in the air, the electricity that filled the room. She turned to face the ballroom entrance as attendees made a path for the most handsome couple she’d ever seen. The man was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders that tapere
d to a narrow waist and hips. His hair was the same glorious golden color as his date’s. He smiled. He knew he had the prettiest woman in the room on his arm.

  Regan was light-headed. Probably because she had stopped breathing. The woman wore a white, fitted evening dress like her own. It was cut a little lower, exposing more cleavage than Regan dared. The slit up the side opened and closed with each step she took, treating onlookers to slim, shapely legs.

  The couple disappeared as the crowd closed around them, and everyone began talking at once.

  “Who is he?” Regan said, nearly choking on the words.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Matthew giggled. “That is Grayson—”

  “You must be Professor Shaw.” The man materialized from the crowd and lightly touched Regan’s elbow.

  Regan turned to face Grace Brandywine and her date.

  “Professor,”—Brandy’s eyes twinkled with mischief—“I had no idea you would be here.”

  It took Regan a few seconds to find her voice. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I see you’re a plus-one also.”

  “Sort of.” Brandy wrinkled her nose. “I’d like to introduce my dad, Grayson Brandywine.”

  Grayson held out a well-manicured hand to Regan and smiled. His green eyes were as spellbinding as his daughter’s. “Brandy has told me so much about you. She loves your class.”

  “Yes, Brandy is a lover of Shakespeare,” Regan said as Matthew gouged her in the back. “May I introduce my date, Professor Matthew Bolen. Matthew is the chairman of our English department.”

  The four exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before one of Regan’s groupies found her.

  “I knew I had this in my car,” the woman gushed. “Would you mind autographing it, Professor?” She held up Regan’s latest—and last—novel.

  Regan smiled and sat down at an empty table to sign the book. She looked up as Matthew and Grayson walked away.

  “They went to get us fresh drinks,” Brandy informed her. “Regan, you’re gorgeous. I mean, I’ve always thought you beautiful, but you’re breathtaking.”

  Back at you, Regan thought, stealing the vernacular of the snowflake generation. “You’re quite stunning too.” So stunning I’m having trouble breathing.